


Sleepers Awake

by DoubleApple



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Background Drarry, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Masturbation, Next-Gen, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Watching Someone Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 00:54:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15158876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleApple/pseuds/DoubleApple
Summary: Teddy has a love/hate relationship with the Weasleys' annual May Day party, but he'd never skip it. Because he’d never,ever, pass up the chance to share James’ bed.





	Sleepers Awake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maccadole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maccadole/gifts).



> [Mac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maccadole/), I loved your perfect Kinkfest prompt — "They can't help it. It feels too good exploring without being judged." — so I made it into a little gift for you. You gave me the courage to try my first-ever Jeddy! Thank you for being so kind, and warm, and a generally amazing human. 
> 
> And thank you, [shifty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiftylinguini/), for the fabulous beta and for being pretty darn amazing yourself. <3

Teddy is six years older than James. Six years, one month, and eleven days, to be exact. Not that Teddy’s counted or anything. Not that he’s obsessed over that number for years, worrying about just how fucked in the head he must be for thinking… well. For thinking the sort of things he thinks about James, who’s supposed to be like a little brother to him. But James has never felt like his little brother, not once. 

Teddy flops back on his rumpled bed in his rented student flat. The sheets are twisted beneath him, and he wills his stupid traitor mind to come up with anything, anything at all, except for how tiny James had looked when they’d all gone to the platform to see Teddy off to Hogwarts for the first time. Five-year-old James had sat on Harry’s shoulders, waving a forlorn goodbye.

Shutting his eyes against the memories just makes them more vivid. Teddy can picture a trip to the sea when James was three, holding tight to his sticky little hand as James — ever the daredevil — shrieked with joy the first time the freezing surf touched his feet and tried to fling his whole body straight into the waves. Teddy remembers James as a baby, remembers when he was _born_ , for Merlin’s sake, when he was _zero_. 

Fuck, but Teddy hates these bloody maths. 

He opens his eyes again and stares at the ceiling. Teddy had been a solitary child, raised alone by a grieving grandmother. Andromeda had died suddenly during his last year at Hogwarts. She’d loved him fiercely, and he would always love her, but it wasn’t like having a proper family. Everyone knew it. And his parents dying as war heroes was important, he knows that too, but the fact that they were good and brave didn’t seem to touch the fact that they simply weren’t _there_. The stories about Voldemort feel just like that to Teddy — stories, part of something that only feels half-real. Even as a child, Teddy knew he could never admit that to anyone, so he never has, and he tries not to be bitter. Now that he’s grown, he isn’t. Mostly. 

There’s a thin crack snaking its way from one corner of his ceiling to the spot right above his head. It gets a bit bigger every time Teddy notices it, he realises, but he can’t bring himself to raise his wand to it. It’s an ominous sign, he thinks gloomily, and his thoughts stray toward the Burrow. The Weasleys’ annual May Day celebration is only a fortnight away, and it gets bigger and more ridiculous every year. It’ll be nearly a week long this time around, with family and parties and singing and the fairy-decked maypole. All the kids will be home from Hogwarts on holiday. 

Teddy is going. Of course he’s going, even though he dreads this party every year. Being around people sometimes feels lonelier than actually being alone in his little Oxford flat, where he can study for blissful uninterrupted ages and his Muggle classmates just think he’s really brilliant at experimenting with hair dye. 

But he’d never skip the May Day party. Because he’d never, not for ten million Galleons served on a golden platter by a Gringotts goblin, pass up the chance to share James’ bed. 

***

End of term is always the busiest time, and Teddy’s hours are soon filled with marking exams, the constant anxiety of his never-finished research, attending formal hall, and trying not to drip soup on his academic dress. He’s been at university nearly as long as he was at Hogwarts, now, and wearing robes far longer than that, but he still can’t get the hang of the gigantic sleeves. Muggle dress robes are rubbish. 

He hasn’t had much time to think about the Burrow, but as he hurriedly tosses random bits of clothes and shoes into his knapsack — made into a large suitcase via extension charm — he lets his mind drift towards it. Specifically, towards James on last May Day, towards the way James looked spread out on the bed in his room at the Burrow, blankets thrown off, messy black hair spread out on the pillow, brown skin sweaty and irresistible in the low morning light. 

James had been stretched out on his back that morning, with his mouth open and one arm thrown carelessly over his chest. Every part of him was inviting — the crease of his elbow, the bend of his wrist, the relaxed fingers curled in slightly on themselves. His large hands with their square nails and broad palms calloused from gripping a broom over hours of Quidditch practice. 

Now, Teddy pointlessly, helplessly, tries to press his erection down with one hand as he hurls two t-shirts, a single flip-flop, and a pair of scratched sunnies into his rucksack. Last year, he’d practically had to tie his own hands to the headboard to keep himself from touching James as he slept. Just one finger, tracing the line of his jaw or the curve of his lip. It would have been so easy to just reach out for James — but Teddy hadn’t. He _hadn’t_. So what if he’s spent nearly every night since thinking about it? So what if it’s almost to the point where he can’t sleep without imagining what James’ hair and mouth and hands must feel like? 

So what if he wanks to it nearly every night? 

***

Apparition always makes Teddy feel ill. He hates the spinning darkness, the squeeze and the sickening twist of it, and especially the nauseating disoriented feel of landing in a heap, lucky to have all his parts arranged properly. He’s convinced that one day he won’t, so he usually travels like a Muggle and isn’t too bothered. He especially likes the Muggle train, the way it throws its own shadow down on the ground to race beside itself. 

He spends the hours riding from Oxford to Devon staring out the window, eating three packets of crisps, reading a detective novel, and trying not to think about spending the night in James’ bed. 

When the train pulls into the small Cranbrook station, he spots Rose waiting for him right away. She’s chuffed because she’s just gotten her first Muggle driving card, and she’s tied her wild red hair up in a pale pink scarf. 

She gives Teddy a quick tight hug and they start toward the car. There’s a warm drizzle falling, humid air surrounding them, and Rose pats her scarf gingerly.

“What do you think? It’s like that old movie star from the States — Dad showed me some photos. She was the most beautiful, elegant witch of all time. I’m still working on her makeup charms, though...”

“Not bad,” Teddy says, his mind already racing as he sees Arthur’s gigantic white sedan, wondering if James is in it. Rose had parked directly in front of the station, and when Teddy nears the car — no James; his heart lurches in both disappointment and relief — he spots a slip of paper bordered in yellow and black stuck under a windshield wiper. 

“Oi, the Muggles left me a note!” Rose says, but her enthusiasm cools quickly. “Parking Charge Notice?” she reads, and then shrugs and drops it in the road. “That’s the last time I’m picking you up, Tedward. Hop in.”

“Rose! You have to pay them for that!” Teddy tosses his rucksack in the boot and swipes up the notice up from the wet pavement. “Don’t litter. And don’t call me Tedward.”

“All right, all right! Don’t be cross with me, _Teddy,_ or I’ll leave you to walk the whole way to the Burrow.” When he’s settled into the passenger seat, Rose starts the car and it immediately lurches forward and nearly crashes into a parking attendant’s scooter just in front of them. Rose gives a sheepish wave and the officer smiles reluctantly at her, the most charming Granger-Weasley of the bunch. She gets away with murder in both the magical and the Muggle worlds, apparently. 

Rose looks at him sideways and tugs at the scarf again. “Gran always says to stop scowling or your face will freeze like that,” she says. She pulls out of the traffic snarled around the station and heads toward the Burrow, too fast and loose with the road but at least heading in the right direction. 

“Sorry,” he says, forcing himself to take a breath. He smooths out the notice on his lap; he’ll pay it for her with Muggle money. “How’s school, Rose?”

“All right.” She’s calmed down a bit and is looking out at the road. “We won the House Cup this term. And I’ve got a boyfriend.”

“You do?” Teddy doesn’t know why he’s surprised, but he is. 

“Yes, and he’s in Slytherin. Dad doesn’t much care for him but Mum said she’d fix it. And it’s not like Jacob minds what they think anyway,” she says haughtily, but it’s so clearly an act. Rose adores her parents, was homeschooled until Hogwarts, and they mean the world to her. 

“Hm, Jacob. What’s he like, then?” Teddy asks. 

“He’s lovely,” Rose says staunchly. “If a bit quiet. But they say the quiet ones are always the best in bed anyway, right? He is quite skilled snogging and I think he’ll be excellent at cunnilingus, when we—”

“Merlin, Rose! Where did you learn to talk like that?” Teddy rubs his forehead. It’s hot and airless in the car, and he feels a headache coming on. His hair is probably crimson.

“Oh Teddy, please. Scorp told me. That’s what you call it properly, when a boy goes down on you, right? Isn’t that the correct term? I know I need to look it up, but Grandad has the computer in a million pieces and I haven’t been able to nick anyone’s phone…”

Rose prattles on and Teddy tunes her out. Five nights, he tells himself, as they speed towards the Burrow. Five nights. Not even a whole week. He can do this. 

No you bloody can’t, whispers a wicked voice in his head. 

***

That first night is fairly awful. It’s stifling, and every cooling charm Teddy casts won’t seem to hold for more than a minute or two. Sometimes there’s too much energy at the Burrow when it’s stuffed with Weasleys and Potters. Everyone’s magic is always crackling, and the air is crammed with static. 

Teddy feels it tonight, like he can’t breathe properly. He longs briefly for his lonely flat and his bed, with its thin mattress and its complete lack of James Sirius Potter sucking every molecule of oxygen from the room. Even when he’s asleep. _Especially_ when he’s asleep. 

Shifting uncomfortably next to James, Teddy sighs and considers opening up the door just to get some air. He’s so close to the door that he could do it without getting up; the extension charms on this house are stretched to their breaking points and everyone has to share rooms. Molly insisted on each grandchild getting their own when they were little, so they’d all feel properly welcome, but James’ tiny space on the third floor feels more like a closet than a bedroom. It’s mostly just bed, and a lumpy one at that. 

James’ breathing is deep and even, and Teddy thinks of the hours stretching before him, the nights after this one, and fuck but he just longs to reach over and touch James. He wants to explore his body, the contours of his face, his hair, every part of him. Teddy turns his back to James, lying on his side, trying figure out where to put his own hands. 

After what feels like hours, Teddy falls into a restless sleep, far too aware of James beside him. 

***

At dinner the next night, everyone talks to Teddy far too much, asking too many questions about his postgraduate studies and his life in general. Some small part of him thrills to their attention, all these loud and loved people with their confidence and their big personalities, focused just on him. All the other parts of him want to crawl under the table. 

“We’re proud of you, Ted,” Arthur says at one point, gruffly, with a fond expression on his face. “Your grandmother, and your mum and dad, would be too.”

Teddy never knows how to respond to this sort of thing, this warm family that’s his but also not. It makes his clothes feel too tight. He tries to smile at Arthur and ducks away as soon as he can, back toward the punchbowl full of ill-advised sangria made with goblin wine and chopped fruit and Merlin only knew what else. 

Lips stained and head swimming, Teddy falls into bed and he’s asleep before James even makes his way upstairs. Everything’s a fuzzy blank until Teddy wakes up with a gasp. He’s already coming. 

His pulse rushing in his ears, he has no choice but to ride out the wet dream. His prick is pressed against nothing but his soft joggers. He’s lying on his side again, and mercifully James’ back is toward him, a few inches away — but as Teddy bites back another gasp and his hips slow their uncontrollable jerking, he realises that his hand is clamped onto James’ hip. 

Thankfully, miraculously, James is somehow still asleep. He seems to have stayed that way the whole time, the curve of his perfectly still back so very close to Teddy. If they’d been touching, James would have been the perfect little spoon to Teddy’s big. 

How is it possible that he’s knackered enough to still be asleep, Teddy marvels. Maybe James had had more of his share of that wicked sangria too. Teddy thanks every lucky star he’s ever had as he wandlessly spells himself clean. Only then does he take his hand off of James’ hip, and not before he allows himself one long — very long — lingering look at the outline of James’ soft cock through his pyjama bottoms, just inches from Teddy’s hand. Teddy registers a quick moment of panic; he could swear he’s just seen James’ cock give a tiny twitch, but no, he must be imagining things. James’ eyes are still shut tight. 

Trying to settle himself down, and casting an extra cleaning charm just to be sure, Teddy squeezes his eyes shut. He imagines being far away, imagines that they’re different people somehow, that he and James could just be two blokes on holiday together or something. In a hostel in Edinburgh, maybe, just in a mini-break, going out to see a band and stumbling home together sozzled at 3am. Or maybe on a long weekend in Crete, sunning themselves on a beach or whatever, swimming in the ocean, napping on the sand. In bathing suits. Small, tight ones. 

Fuck. Teddy groans inwardly as his cock expresses interest in this scenario and starts filling again, already, at the thought of watching James bound out into the surf wearing a tight little white suit, the way his arse would move… he’d go out too far, for sure, jumping the waves and launching himself out to sea. 

Teddy rolls onto his stomach, pressing his prick into the lumpy mattress. He tries to substitute a different bloke’s face for James’, a leaner body for his stocky one, narrower eyes or wider ones, different hair, long and straight, blue, pink, chartreuse, striped, polka dot, fuck, this is not working. It never works, his bloody brain always takes him back to the same black mop. Always James. Brave, playful, carefree, irritating, infuriating James. 

***

It takes three doses of hangover potion to cure the massive headache that Teddy wakes up with the next morning. He swears off of red wine forever and doesn’t touch a drop of alcohol all day, but that night he can’t fall asleep at all. 

He feels powerless in the still, hot air. The room is thick with dim, brownish light, not even properly dark. It’s impossible not to reach over and stroke James’ sweaty hair off his forehead, tuck it behind his ear. Impossible not to trace the line of his stubbly jaw and the divot below his lip, the slight cleft of his chin, the soft skin behind his ear. Impossible not to lean over and press his lips to James’ temple, to taste the clean salty skin. He can’t help himself. 

Fuck. _Buggering fuck_. Teddy doesn’t even want to think about that third night. 

***

At the May Day celebration, dozens upon dozens of people gather in the Burrow, which has every extension charm maximised to the hilt. There’s a beautiful maypole, and pickup Quidditch — which Teddy does not play, ever, but which gives him a chance to ogle James from the ground at length. Ogle he does; James is lovely on a broom, dodging and spinning. He’s not as good as Victoire, who’s signed with the Harpies for next year, and he isn’t as clever as Albus or as natural as Ginny or George, who always join the kids in the air. But James is more daring, more carefree and reckless and beautiful, than all the rest of them put together. 

Afterwards, Teddy goes inside and settles himself down in an armchair with a bowl of one of Molly’s puddings. When James saunters over, Teddy shoves an extra-large bite in his mouth so he doesn’t have to talk. 

“You eat more dessert than anyone I’ve ever met,” James says without preamble, his voice teasing but—is Teddy imagining it?—with a slight tinge of something suggestive, slow and sweet. 

Teddy swallows and snorts. “Haven’t met yourself, then?”

James raises his eyebrow at the overflowing bowl, which, now that Teddy really looks at it, seems to be some sort of mixing bowl. It is really rather large. Teddy feels embarrassed and takes an even larger bite, to diminish the quantity of pudding in front of him. He considers a shrinking charm for the bowl, too, but it feels too late for that. 

“Whatever,” Teddy says through his mouthful of berries and cream and pound cake. “Your gran’s food is amazing.”

“Nah, I think you’re just insatiable.”

And James turns and walks away, arse on full display in his tight Quidditch trousers, leaving Teddy to feel the blush rise to the tops of his ears and his hair turn magenta. Definitely suggestive. 

There’s also a spot of day drinking, and evening drinking, and night drinking. Teddy winds up tipsy in the kitchen, leaning against the long wooden table and talking to Hermione’s parents for nearly an hour about gruesome-sounding Muggle dentistry techniques. 

After the Grangers take their leave, Teddy uses George and Jillian’s new baby as an excuse to go out to the garden and get some air. Jilly — whom Teddy has always liked; she’s always been kind to him and she reminds him of a young Madame Pomfrey — looked grateful when he’d asked if he could hold the baby. She took off almost immediately to a bedroom, presumably to lock herself in and get a moment alone at last. 

It’s still unseasonably warm, stifling inside. When Teddy steps outside into the slightly cooler night air, he cradles the baby and walks her around a bit, speaking softly to her and naming the different plants and flowers. When the baby’s eyes start to drift close, he hoists her up to his left shoulder and goes to sit down on the back step. 

Albus comes out a moment later with a drink in his hand and perches next to Teddy on the step. They don’t say anything for a moment, looking out at the fairy lights strung up over the empty lawn and taking deep breaths of the dewy spring air. The baby is soft and sweet, heavy with sleep in Teddy’s arms, and he feels steadier than he has in days. 

“Can’t believe they named that poor thing ‘Freda,’” Albus says, turning his glass in his hands. “Everyone around here is a bit weird about names.”

Teddy smiles. “You don’t say, Albus Severus.” 

“Touché.” Albus tips his drink — pumpkin juice, looks like, although Teddy would bet that Al snuck in something a bit stronger. Albus is fifteen now, quieter and more reflective than James, more like Teddy himself. It’s always been easier for Teddy to talk to Albus than James, or even Harry. And Teddy has no James-feelings toward Al. Thank the ghost of Helga Hufflepuff for that. 

They sit quietly for a moment, and Teddy can tell Albus is working up to something. 

“D’you think it’s weird that my dad is shagging Scorp’s dad?” he asks finally, and that is not at all where Teddy thought this was going. It _had_ been a bit weird, actually, to glance over and see Harry’s hand entwined with another man’s, his brown fingers alternating with Draco Malfoy’s pale ones, resting them right on top of the table for everyone to see. 

“Dunno. Your mum seems okay with it,” Teddy says. Ginny was right there, and she’d been acting normal. She’d even bopped Harry on the head fondly with a distracted hand while Scorpius’ dad was sitting between Harry’s legs in the living room after dinner. Ginny and Harry had split up ages ago, but Teddy’s never seen either of them with anyone else before tonight. 

“I don’t think she’s bothered much. She said she knew he was queer for ages. And she’s been dating some bloke from work since the winter hols, too.”

Albus takes another gulp of his drink and sets it back down between them. Teddy stays quiet, lightly patting Freda’s back. Her rosebud mouth is open a bit, and she has a tiny freckle on her cheek. 

“Gran had a bit of a strop when Dad first told us all,” Albus says. “But I think it was more about who he went for than the fact that he was a bloke.”

“Oh, the Malfoy thing.” Teddy shifts the baby on his other shoulder and reaches over to steal a sip of Albus’s drink. There’s definitely vodka mixed in with the juice. 

Teddy worries sometimes about that side of his family tree. He’d never met his grandmother’s sister Narcissa before she died. As a child, even his first tentative questions made his grandmother so sad that he’d stopped before he ever even worked out the things he really wanted to ask. But, technically, he’s more related to Draco Malfoy than anyone else at the party tonight, and he wonders whether the older generation of Weasleys and Potters think about that too.

Albus shakes his head like a dog shaking off water. “I hate thinking about the war. It makes everything feel so frightening.”

“Yeah, agreed.” Teddy glances behind them, into the kitchen, where Molly is holding court at the stove. She’s very round now, very beautiful, long red hair shot through with white and piled casually on her head. Arthur says something to her and she swats him with a towel. 

“It _is_ a bit weird, though isn’t it,” Albus says again. “Seeing Dad with a bloke.”

More than a bit, Teddy thinks, but suddenly there’s a little spark of hope that maybe he could talk to Harry — _really_ talk to him — someday. 

“Seems like a lot of the men in our family aren’t straight,” Albus continues, and Teddy’s poor conflicted heart warms to the word “our,” even though it doesn’t feel entirely true. So he’s distracted, and he almost misses the litany that Albus is reciting: “Dad, Uncle Charlie, Uncle Bill sort of, James. You. And me. Maybe me too.” 

Albus is all studied casualness now, deliberately looking out at the little pinpricks of light glowing in the garden, instead of anywhere in the vicinity of Teddy. There were names in that list that Teddy hadn’t realised Al knew, and one name — the last one — that he hadn’t known himself. Teddy pats the baby’s back some more. 

“You forgot my dad,” he says casually. “He was bisexual, my Nana told me.” 

“Your dad too, then.” Al looks at Teddy again, his chubby face half-lit from the glow of the kitchen and a small grateful smile playing on his lips. “A lot of us.”

Teddy smiles at him warmly. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

***

Things are a bit better that night. Relaxed from holding the baby and talking to Al, Teddy and James go upstairs at the same time, but Teddy manages to slip into the loo to change just as James is peeling off his Harpies t-shirt. 

By the time Teddy finishes brushing his teeth and taking far too long arranging his pyjamas, he comes out to find James already asleep on the bed, lying diagonally. 

“Shove over,” Teddy mumbles, pushing at James’ knees. 

“Mmmrph.” James moves his legs maybe an inch, and Teddy takes this opportunity to slide a hand under James’ lower half and pivot him over to his own side of the bed. James’ skin is warm and soft. If Teddy lingers just a moment too long to skim his fingers along James’ bare legs, who’s awake to notice?

***

On the very last night, after another long hot day, in James’ blasted bed yet again, Teddy is already sweating and miserable. But he’s also already dreading the morning, when he’ll leave the Burrow and James and these ridiculous, endless, tortured nights. 

Sick with frustration and self-loathing, he touches James’ hair and the back of his sweaty neck, desire prickling beneath his skin. Teddy pulls himself as far to the other end of the bed as he can, barely hanging onto the edge, and falls into an uneasy sleep with frustration and lust clogging his throat. 

And a few hours later, Teddy wakes up to find himself next to James. Like really _next_ to him, spooning him from behind. Their bodies are flush against each other, with Teddy’s own hand wrapped tight around James’ cock. 

Teddy panics. He freezes. Helga Bloody Hufflepuff in heaven, _what_ is he _doing_. Practically every inch of his body is pressed against James, from head to toe. His chin is hooked over James’ shoulder; even his ankle is crooked over James’, his other foot pressed between James’ feet and moving back and forth slowly. He’s somehow shoved down James’ pyjamas so his naked arse is flush against Teddy’s own very interested crotch. And his hand… he cannot _believe_ where his hand is, as it tightens involuntarily and gives one slow stroke. 

It’s like watching a play that you’re in yourself, Teddy thinks. Is this what it’s like to be a ghost? And his out-of-body experience continues as James responds to that pull by arching up into Teddy’s hand. 

Consciousness — clear, horrible, appalling consciousness — rushes fully back to Teddy and he snatches his hand away. 

James, his eyes still closed, reaches out and grabs Teddy’s wrist. 

Quidditch, Teddy thinks wildly, it must be Quidditch, those Seeker reflexes must be so ingrained that they’re making James react even when he’s asleep and he doesn’t, he _can’t_ know what he’s doing, he’s _sleeping_ —

“Don’t you dare stop now, you prat,” James mumbles, eyes still closed, and he grabs Teddy’s frozen hand and guides it awkwardly back to his cock. Which, Teddy is now in a position to notice for the first time, is really rather large in the same way James himself is large, stocky and substantial. The foreskin is already pushed back, the tip ruddy and blunt and oh, fucking fuck fuck—

Teddy’s frozen again; his heart, thundering in his ears before, stops beating entirely. A soft groan escapes from his mouth before he can stop it. 

“Please, Teddy,” James adds, and oh how that shatters Teddy into a million pieces. He can’t remember ever hearing James say please before, about anything. 

Teddy’s heartbeat returns in a wild rush as he wraps his hand around James’ cock. He arches into the touch properly this time, mumbles “mm, yeah” and leaves his arm slung over Teddy’s, moving a little, encouraging Teddy on. 

Teddy can’t resist one slow grind against James’ arse, just to ease his own throbbing cock, and the hard press of it nearly makes him cry out in relief at the same moment James suddenly tenses and comes with a long moan, tightening his arm even more so that Teddy is clutched to his back. Without thinking, he pumps James through his orgasm and reaches down to lightly stroke his bollocks afterward, which elicits another moan. James goes limp in his arms — distantly, it registers in Teddy’s mind: James is _in his arms and this is really happening_ — and Teddy can feel the relaxation spreading through him. 

For ten seconds or so, it’s bloody lovely. Until James’ quintessential energy comes back in a rush and he flips himself over and tries to grab hold of Teddy’s aching cock through his pants. Teddy yelps and half-pushes him away. 

“Come on, let me,” James says, smiling mischievously, his hands everywhere all of a sudden. “You must be beyond gagging for it at this point. Seeing as it began before I even woke up and all.”

And that’s it, that’s all it takes for the wave of shame that’s been threatening Teddy since the moment he opened his eyes to crash down on him. It weighs a thousand pounds, fuck, he loathes himself, a cold hard dread spreading over him, with James’ spunk still drying on his hand. 

Teddy clamps his eyes shut and flips over on his side, away from James. He faces the door, trying to plan an exit strategy from this bed, from the room, from the Burrow entirely so he can get outside the wards and Apparate home and then die of shame alone in his flat. If he could just get out without James saying anything, or seeing his erection… he isn’t sure how he’ll be able to walk out of the room, but—

“I can practically _hear_ you throwing an internal wobbly right now,” James says, rolling over and wrapping an arm around Teddy, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Teddy freezes, conscious of how thin and bony his chest is beneath James’ heavy arm and how James smells better than he has any right to, conscious of his breathing, of oxygen, of the very molecules of bloody air between the two of them. 

“I’m not—” Teddy has to pause to swallow and James laughs, maddeningly self-confident as always. 

“You are, you wanker. As it were.” And even Teddy is forced to let out a single gasp of laughter at that. He can feel James smile behind him, and then he says, in a voice so gentle and soft that Teddy barely believes it, “I’m eighteen now, you know. Have been for a whole month. So what’s the trouble, then, Tedward?”

And oh, that genuine question is worse than being teased. Teddy’s humiliated. 

“The trouble? I was… I’ve been… touching you… when you were asleep,” Teddy grinds out, self-loathing making it hard for him to speak. 

And James, fucking James, _laughs_. 

“Asleep! You really did buy it, then. Wow. How could I have possibly been asleep through all of that, before? I just didn’t want you to stop, mate, and I thought you would if I so much as moved a muscle. Couldn’t help myself tonight, but fucking hell, that night you got yourself off behind my back, I almost lost my fucking mind.”

Teddy cannot process this at all. “You knew?”

“Of course I knew, Teddy,” James says, kindly. Too kindly. It hurts, how kind he’s being. 

“No. James, we can’t— we can’t do this. We’re too…” Teddy trails off, then forces himself to say it. “Different.” 

James laughs again. “Different how? I mean, I know you’re taller than me and I’m better-looking than you, but I don’t reckon it matters all that much.”

“Come on, Jamie. You know what I mean. Our ages.” The absurdity of arguing about this — of talking James _out_ of something Teddy himself wants so badly — isn’t lost on him, but he just can’t go on. 

“You’re what, twenty seven or something?” James asks, sliding his arm down to the dip just above Teddy’s hip and tightening his hold around his chest. It feels incredible. 

Teddy sputters but holds completely still, afraid James will move away. He does not want James to move away. Ever. “No! Twenty four! Only six years more than you.” And one month and eleven days, a voice in his head adds drily. 

“I don’t mind, Teddy, keep your pants on. I don’t care if you’re forty.”

Teddy closes his eyes against that. “Please don’t tell me you’ve pulled a forty-year-old, James.”

“‘Course not.” Teddy can feel James smile in the darkness. “That bloke was forty five, at least.”

Teddy forces himself to take a breath. He can positively _feel_ his hair going a deep dark red—

“I’m having you on, Tedward, I’ve never pulled an older bloke. Calm down. Or don’t.” James leans over him to look pointedly, foolishly, into his eyes, dark fringe falling across his face, bright eyes smoldering beneath. 

“Don’t call me ‘Tedward.’” Teddy wills himself to ignore all the places James’ body is pressed into contact with his own. His hand seems to have a mind of its own and is absently — or Teddy thinks it’s absently, at least — carding through his chest hair, unexpectedly gentle for James. It’s an inch, maybe less, away from his nipple, which Teddy is suddenly aware of. 

Furtively, he presses a hand down to his crotch, trying pointlessly to push down his blinding erection. 

“I saw that.” James is positively purring behind him. “S’alright. I don’t mind. At all.”

James starts to reach his own bloody hand down. Teddy slaps at it like it’s on fire. 

“Ow, fuck! You don’t have to hit me—”

“Shhhh!” Teddy hisses, hating himself, loathing every fibre of his stupid proper body. “You’ll wake up the whole house!”

“Well, could we at least have a wank together, then? Fuck, you’ve got me all worked up again. Don’t know why you’re such a prude. Age difference… who cares, fuck. Merlin’s saggy tits.”

James is grumbling almost to himself, but his voice belies a trace of anxiety that Teddy realises he’s trying to hide with bravado. James busies himself untying the string of his thin cotton pyjamas and shoves the bottoms fully down, struggling out of them. 

And then he presses his naked cock right up to Teddy’s arse, and Teddy nearly comes all over the bed untouched. Because how can James be this hard again, just minutes after the first time? How… could he really be this turned on by _him_? By Teddy? 

“James,” he begins, in a horrible shaky voice he hates, and James sighs theatrically and rolls away from Teddy, flat on his back with his hands beneath his head and his pointy elbows sticking out, like he has all the time in the world. Like he’s relaxed. 

“Honestly, mate.” James’ voice is playful now, droll, teasing, and Teddy rolls over to face him like he’s been pulled by a magnet. “Do we have to figure out every single detail right now? Could we just admit we kind of fancy each other, and we both want to be doing this, and then see how it goes from there?”

“Wait, you kind of _fancy_ me?” Teddy flips over to face James. 

“Yeah, have done for years. Since I was a kid.” Teddy finds himself entirely unable to speak, as James rattles on. 

“I mean, I’ve, you know. Fooled around with other blokes at school. And a girl or two, a few times. That didn’t go so well…” James trails off, and Teddy honestly doesn’t know what he means and doesn’t care, because he’s still stuck on James’ ‘have done.’ 

“ _Why?_ ” All the blood to Teddy’s brain must have been diverted to his cock. He wants, quite badly, to die.

“Why didn’t it go well with girls?” Jamie looks suspicious and gestures vaguely toward his crotch. “I mean, it’s a bit obvious, don’t you think?” 

“No, no, I mean why…” Teddy can’t bring himself to spit out ‘why do you fancy me’, because it’s too bloody pathetic even for him, but James seems to figure it out on his own. 

“Oh. Well, lots of reasons. Like remember that one time when I was a first year, and Matthew McGinnis and his stupid git of a best friend turned those two plates into giant frogs during lunch?”

Teddy’s mind is really not on frogs, or Hogwarts, or Matthew McGinnis or his stupid git friend. His mind is on nothing but James’ cock, now completely free of his pyjama bottoms and standing full at attention again, only minutes after he’d just come. And now there was James’ own hand, lazily coming to wrap around the base of that cock. 

Summoning every ounce of willpower he’s ever possessed, Teddy forces himself to pull his gaze up to meet James’ eyes. The only reply he can muster is an unfocused, “pardon?”

James smiles at him, his eyes crinkling, his look unbearably fond, and Teddy feels like he’s suddenly bathed in a beam of bloody sunlight. 

“You don’t even remember, do you,” James says, almost to himself. 

“Remember what?” Teddy’s eyes drift to James’ broad mouth, his impossibly wide smile, his full lips.

“They were torturing them.”

Teddy just shakes his head; he has no idea what James is talking about. James laughs and reaches out for Teddy, cupping a hand around his head and tracing Teddy’s ear with his thumb, and fuck, if he couldn’t concentrate on this conversation before, he certainly can’t now. 

“The frogs, you tosser. Matthew’s frogs, that he’d Transfigured. They were awful, gigantic and really slimy. He was about to start practicing a severing charm on them, and everyone sitting there was disgusted, but no one was doing anything about it. And you didn’t say a word, just walked over and scooped up the frogs, one in each hand, and marched out. I think you let them go in the lake.”

“Oh... right, yeah,” Teddy says. It’s ringing a distant bell now, although he hadn’t thought of it probably since it happened, and James has started sort of gently kneading Teddy’s ear with his thumb, and Teddy had never realised how _sensitive_ his bloody ear was, and—

“You were so… I dunno, so sure of yourself or something. You barely even looked at those blokes; you didn’t care what they thought of you. Your hair didn’t even turn color. It was like it was nothing to you.”

“It _was_ nothing.” Teddy doesn’t understand why they’re talking about this now, when James is starkers in bed next to him and he’s so bloody horny he can’t even—

“That’s exactly what I mean,” James says in a lower voice, almost a growl. Is this his turned-on voice? Teddy can’t keep his hands to himself any longer, and he reaches out for James, resting a tentative hand on the jut of his hip. James’ skin is warm to the touch. 

“It didn’t even register for you,” James continues in that rough voice. “You just did it because it was right. Because it was _good_. You didn’t care what anyone thought.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess.” Teddy runs his hand up and down James’ side and sees James give a small shiver, a small secret smile. He likes it. This story is nice and all, very nice, his mind records it as a lovely compliment that he will happily reflect upon later, but his cock is registering some more pressing concerns. So to speak. 

“That’s not all, though. There’s more reasons I like you.” James leans closer, his eyes searching out Teddy’s, his lips slightly parted. James is going to kiss him. Fuck, yes. 

“Oh?” Teddy’s breathing hard through his mouth. His heart is racing so fast he’s a bit concerned he’ll pass out before James ever touches his cock properly, and that just will not do. 

“You’re sweet, and shy. And I never know what you’re thinking unless your hair gives it away. And you’re bloody gorgeous. And I had my first-ever wet dream about you.”

James delivers this final little revelation calmly, his Gryffindor courage betrayed only by the hard swallow at the end of the sentence. Teddy is speechless, utterly undone, as he watches James’ Adam’s apple bob down and rise back up. He wants desperately to kiss James — more, at long last, than he wants to maintain any semblance of his composure. 

“Jamie,” he says, unconsciously using the nickname he doesn’t usually even allow himself to think, because it conjures up a little boy instead of a man. But James, Jamie, is so dear to him in this moment, he can’t help himself.

Teddy tangles his hand in James’ thick, dark hair, pulling them even closer. They stare at each other for a moment, eyes locked, mouths inches apart, and then James leans forward, surprisingly gentle, almost shy himself, and kisses him. 

Even if Teddy could think in words right now — if even one single coherent thought could enter his mind — there wouldn’t be a word for how he feels. James’ mouth is warm and sleepy, his tongue soft and sweet, his body pressing against Teddy’s everywhere it can touch. 

The kiss deepens, becoming harder and more urgent, and Teddy feels James’ hand snake in between them, shove down his pants, and wrap around his cock. He has to pull away to breathe for a moment, and James begins talking in almost a whisper, his voice rough and deep. 

“Is this how you like it? Is this how you like me to touch you, the way you did me? You want to—” he rolls his hips against Teddy, Jesus _fuck_ — “to fuck into my hand? What if someday you fuck me properly with that cock of yours?” And of course, Teddy should have known that James would be a bloody talker in bed, of course he would have a filthy mouth to match every other brash and bold and delectable part of him. 

Teddy is on overload, his body short-circuiting, and he crushes that filthy mouth beneath his own, one hand behind James’ head to press him in, hard. 

James gives a muffled yelp of surprise but doesn’t even pause before pressing his mouth fully against Teddy’s, tongues and teeth colliding, hot and desperate. Teddy had no idea snogging could feel this way, like every inch of him was pouring into James. His hands roam everywhere, finally allowed to do what they’ve wanted to for so long, touching every part of James he can reach, his back, his arse, his hair, cupping the sides of his face. 

And Teddy knows this is going to be over way too soon, as James takes both their pricks in his hand. The words he’d whispered a moment ago echo again in Teddy’s head — _what if someday you fuck me properly with that cock of yours_ — and fuck, James is rolling against him again and their cocks are sliding rough against each other and Teddy is coming already, much too soon, a sweet and blinding coil of heat breaking apart inside of him, spilling all over James’ hand and their stomachs, bloody hell. But then James groans and pumps himself harder, once, twice, three times, and Teddy gets to see his face as he comes, screwed up in pleasure, impossibly beautiful in its bliss. 

Fuck. Teddy feels everything, all at once, blood pounding in his veins as James strokes himself until the very end and gives one last quick twist of his wrist before falling onto his back, spent. Teddy glances over at James, who’s already looking over at him. Teddy smiles; he can’t help it. 

“Merlin,” James says, breathless, and even through his haze, Teddy feels a pang of triumph that James — who almost literally never shuts up — is well near speechlessness. 

They rest for a minute, lying on their backs staring at the ceiling, panting, smiling. The quiet heat of the Burrow wraps itself around Teddy, and he’s so deliciously tired, as though he’s spent a whole day at the sea. He’s slowly dropping into sleep until he hears James whisper, “Can I touch it?”

“Hm? Touch what?” 

“Your hair,” James says softly. 

“Touch my hair?” Teddy is genuinely confused. “Sure. Of course. Touch anything you want.” He inches closer to James. 

James huffs out a little laugh and says, “It’s just… I’ve always wondered what your hair feels like.” His shyness is baffling, so out of character. One tentative hand smooths over Teddy’s hair and he feels himself lean into the touch like a cat who’s starved for affection. Warm sleepiness overtakes him again, with James’ hand gentling his head. 

“It’s sparkling,” James says.

“For you.” Dawn is beginning to steal around the edges of the curtains, and Teddy is so tired, so content, he doesn’t know what he’s saying. Words, which once felt like all he had to hold on to, fail him for at least the seventh time tonight. 

“And it’s gone all rosy and golden.” 

“Mm.” And Teddy drifts to sleep, too far gone to hear James whisper, “for me.”

***

“Tedward!” 

James is running across the unkempt lawn, toward the car that Rose is proudly driving once again. They’re about to go back to the station, but this time, everything feels different. 

When James reaches the car, he leans into the passenger side window and puts both hands on the frame. He pokes his head through, just inches from Teddy’s face, and Teddy has to suppress a quick urge to kiss him. 

“Don’t leave without saying goodbye, you tossers.”

Rose, back in Hepburn mode with her driving scarf on, shoots him a skeptical look. “We said goodbye already, inside.”

James bites his thumb absently, and then lifts his eyes to meet Teddy’s. He runs his tongue slowly over his lip, around his thumb. Teddy shifts in his seat and James grins at him. Maybe he wasn’t doing that so absently after all. 

“Move, James, or Teddy’ll miss his train!” 

James ignores her. Rose’s eyebrows are lifted practically to her hairline now, and Teddy feels himself begin to sweat. What is James trying to do? 

“Tedward,” he says again, and purely out of habit, Teddy says, “don’t call me—” even though honestly James can call him _whatever_ he bloody wants, but James has already stepped back from the window. He’s looking a bit forlorn, actually, standing there. Teddy flashes him four fingers — meaning four days until they’ll see each other again; they’d agreed James would come to visit even before the summer hols — and blows a tiny secret kiss toward him while Rose is fixing her scarf in the side mirror. 

James’ slow, easy smile spreads across his face. He flashes four fingers back and then pokes his tongue into his cheek, rude until the bitter end. Teddy grins and ducks his head as Rose shifts into gear abruptly and they pull away from James. 

Four days. That’s just 96 hours, 5760 minutes, a few hundred thousand seconds. Practically nothing. These maths, Teddy can handle.


End file.
